


Sharpied Coke Cans

by swiftMartyrdom (gatonip)



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Humanstuck, I drew a thing and it evolved into this thing, M/M, Minor Character Death, bc I have no control over my life
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-08-04
Updated: 2014-08-14
Packaged: 2018-02-11 19:34:34
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 7,483
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2080500
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gatonip/pseuds/swiftMartyrdom
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The summer before junior year he spent almost every day in your room. You talked about movies and the universe and how much you loathe sunburn. He only drank Coke if you gave him a can that read 'Karl' that you edited with a Sharpie. He fell asleep on your floor, and you fell in love with him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Full Story

June 10th

Bro comes in and says you have a visitor. You briefly consider trying to clean up a bit, or at least just get rid of the empty apple juice bottles that’s been sitting on your desk for three weeks, but then he mentions it’s Karkat and you decide to let your room be.

You used to have a pretty good rivalry going with that prick, but as you got older neither of you had the energy to keep it going. It was all a show anyway. Terezi told you he’s just jealous of how cool you are, then got serious and said it’s because that’s how all of his male relationships go. Antagonism is his natural response to input but nobody could hand it back to him like you did. His dad doesn’t give a shit, his brother’s got this religious peace shtick going on, Gamzee’s too stoned to participate properly, John grinds his gears like a puppy nips at your heels, and Sollux’s bipolarity makes him feel guilty if he catches him on a bad day. You, however, could hold your own and throw it right back with ease, and he respected that.

Neither of you know how that dynamic toned down so much after freshman year. He mellowed out somewhat. You stopped being a prima donna about everything. You started talking to each other like normal human beings and realized you had some common interests. He’ll still insult you to high heaven and you’ll get all snarky about his odd habits, but you’re not at each other’s throats all the time anymore.

“Sup Vantas,” you greet as he walks in, lazily throwing his backpack down. “Gracing me with your presence, hmm?”

“I was gonna hang with Terezi but I forgot she’s in Boston this week. Checking out Harvard a whole two years before graduation’s a bit overboard if you ask me but whatever. Figured I’d see what you’re doing.”

“A whole lot of nothing. By the way I wasn’t expecting royalty to visit, excuse the lack of red carpet.”

He rolls his eyes. “Like I told you in intro to business, if anybody’s king of the asswipes it’s you.”

“I’m flattered for the vote of confidence but you’ve had me beat in that category for ages.”

“Fuck you. Any of these new?” he asks, gesturing to your string of photographs suspended from the ceiling.

“Yeah, I just finished developing the pics from the last day.” You get up and pull a few of your favorites from the line. “Eridan looks like a damn model in this one. Meanwhile this one’s got Vriska with the most ridiculous expression on the planet.”

He smirks. “In the end everybody looks like a dork.”

“That’s because they _are_ dorks.”

“Not you though, right?”

“Although I’m not king of the asswipes I still retain royalty status as emperor of Cool Town.”

He cocks an eyebrow. “That line alone makes you contender for the asswipe throne.”

You spend the day looking through the photos, then your older ones when you break out your binder of them. The two of you compare people from how they looked back as far as 6th grade to now. He tells you your skills are improving – “You’re not leaving your thumb in the shot like an idiot as often.” – and you tell him his face shows up better on film when he’s not dodging the camera – “My goal is to get those pearly whites in a shot one day, then I can die peacefully.”

He leaves at dinnertime. He says he might come by tomorrow. You tell him to bring snacks.

-

June 27th

“It’s totally up your alley. There’s blood and guts and action and drama. Also a tiny prick such as yourself but with Kanaya’s cleaning obsession times ten.”

“You realize I’m hemophobic, right? And that my alley is occupied mostly by Will Smith and sappy romance films?”

“There’s not a lot of Men in Black but Ymir is pretty damn gay for Historia if that helps. Shit. Manga spoiler you didn’t hear that second name.”

He’s visited you about two, maybe three days a week. You joke that he has no social life outside of you, but he fires back that you’re free every day he comes over so what does that say about yours?

In truth you both have armies of friends to chill with (scratch that, you both have the same army) and when you’re not cooped up in your room with him you’re both out with the other soldiers. In fact, you were on Main Street yesterday with John and you spotted him and the Lesbian Squad (your nickname for Kanaya, Rose, and Jade, despite Jade not following that particular lifestyle) hanging around Pet Smart. Five minutes later you were ogling bearded lizards and he was making faces at the cobras.

You hang out with people other than each other. It’s not uncommon that anyone from your group of friends stops by your apartment for a visit. The fact that he’s been over so often surprises you a bit, but you have nothing against it. You’d say something if you did.

Today you marathon Attack on Titan (he relents to the sub with the promise that it’s far superior to the dub; the next day you get a text saying he agrees). For having a deeply ingrained fear of gore he handles it like a trooper; in the moments when he doesn’t, he buries his face in a pillow and you vaguely describe what’s going on.

When you finish the first episode he excuses himself to the bathroom. You don’t mean to eavesdrop but you think he calls his mom. Says I love you. He comes back with a flushed face that you politely don’t point out.

You order Chinese food for dinner, and he calls you disgusting for swallowing an entire soy sauce package without any prompting to. Neither of you sound very educated when you try to follow the “learn Chinese” pronunciation guides on the back of the fortune cookie fortunes.

He doesn’t actually like the taste of fortune cookies. It’s for this exact reason that you stuff all of his uneaten cookies into his backpack when he isn’t looking.

-

July 6th

He’s notably agitated when he shows up today. Says he had plans to go see The Fault in Our Stars with the Lesbian Squad (you’ve got him referring to them as that, too) but they flaked at the last minute.

“And before you ask, no, I will not see it with you.”

You feign being offended. “But Mr. Vantas, I thought this would be such a relationship builder for us! Just you and I, eating overpriced popcorn in a freezing theater while cancer patients run around Amsterdam and fall in love!”

He questions how you know about the Amsterdam bit, as it’s not mentioned in the trailers. You blame Feferi and he needs no further explanation (girl has a thing for locations with waterways).

“You’ll just talk the whole time and make shitty amputee jokes.”

“Nah man, I joke and all but I ain’t gonna touch cancer. Besides, you seemed to be getting off constantly when you were reading the book, I won’t shit all over the movie version for you.” He eyes you, considering it. “Strider promise I won’t,” you say and put a hand on your chest.

Two hours later you stumble out of the theater, eyes scandalously red (beyond your irises which goes without saying), and he promises not to tell if you won’t.

 -

July 10th

The week is 5 days in and after today you will have hung out with him for 3 of them already. Bro doesn’t tell you when he shows up anymore, he just walks in like he lives here with the two of you.

He texts you before he comes this time though: “Ran into Rezi on my way over, ok if she comes w/?”

“More the merrier.”

She’s in need of more art supplies, and you planned on dropping by Game Stop today anyways, so you all head to 4th Street for A.C. Moore. The way her almost completely useless eyes light up when you go through the drawing utensils aisle is precious; watching her practically get high on the scented markers, not so much. You load up on crayons and colored pencils for your future SBaHJ comics. Karkat buys a package of pipe cleaners but admits that he doesn’t have any plans to use them.

Terezi drags you both to the decorative flowers and potpourri. You tell her the smell reminds you of a dusty attic. She says that’s the charm of it. She starts fashioning crowns out of the fake blossoms and places one on your head.

“The king finally has a crown,” he quips, and though it’s secretly an insult you can’t help but laugh.

The cashier gives you all a look when Terezi tries to purchase the flowers in their crown form, but lets the transaction go through. You get a similar look when you walk into Game Stop looking like woodland fairies.

Terezi grabs Pokémon Y because she refuses to trade with anybody to get the legendary for her game on X (“I always bought both versions as a kid, it’s like a stupid tradition I have to keep running.”) You get a bunch of five packs of styluses (“Tavros is always borrowing mine and losing them like an ass.”). After 20 minutes of arguing with himself (“I already read the translation online what’s the point?”), Karkat picks up Dangan Ronpa (“One day that site will go down probably, I need to preserve the story.”)

Back at your place you try and hilariously fail to play Pictionary with your new supplies. You learn that although he can’t draw for his life, his ability to create a giraffe out of pipe cleaners is uncanny.

Terezi has to leave early because her mom is on a business trip and doesn’t want her out late when she’s not home. He grabs his backpack and offers to walk with her. You’re surprised and not when he comes back afterwards, and you decide to outwardly appear the latter.

The sun sets late in the summer. You can clearly see a firefly out your window when he decides to head home.

-

July 14th

Aradia is dead.

A rumor says it’s Sollux’s fault, but that boy loves her like growing plants love sunshine and you don’t believe it. Another rumor says Vriska is somehow involved, despite her currently being out of town. The police aren’t releasing information. If somebody who knows somebody important is involved, they’ll never release anything. It’ll get swept under the rug like every crime that happens in that area of town.

You feel as lifeless as she is now.

You buried yourself in your blanket and cried. It got too hot so you kicked it off, then felt guilty about hurting its feelings, and you cried more. Bro came in to check on you and you yelled at him to leave. You chased after him blubbering apologies.

He usually comes over around 11. You think about washing your face to disguise the fact that you’ve been sobbing for hours, but realize that you don’t care if he knows.

When he comes in your back’s against your bed. He sits beside you and you offer him a Sharpied Coke, one you spent literally an hour correcting rather than the usual two seconds. You stare at your turntables on the other side of the room, he tilts his head back to stare at the ceiling, and you sit in heavy silence.

“It was springtime,” he eventually says. “We were five and she told us there were ancient ruins hidden beneath her backyard. Remember?”

You nod. “She grabbed everybody from the neighborhood who would come and we dug up the garden. Heh. Her mom was so pissed that we ruined her petunias.”

“She didn’t care. Equius found a rock that looked like a skull if you squinted and that was worth everyone getting grounded for the rest of the day.”

On TV, people don’t tell stories about perished loved ones until the wake, but even if there’s a body left to bury, you don’t think you could stomach a funeral.

“Were you close to her?” You don’t know why you care.

“Kind of. More when we were little. She was my neighbor back then and her dad is buddies with my dad. There was co-family barbeques and stuff.” He rifles through his backpack and produces his pack of pipe cleaners. “She uh. She taught me how to make stuff with these things.” He grabs a few green ones and starts twisting and contorting them. You watch silently. When he’s done there’s a dinosaur resting in his hands. “This one was her favorite.”

You both stare at the reptile for a while quietly until you fear it’ll drive you mad. “When we were eight I broke my leg jumping off the swings and I couldn’t go out for recess. She brought her Zoo Books in and we’d look at them together.” You smile a bit at the memory. “The first day I was allowed out she held my hand just in case I needed a crutch. And every day after that, even months later when I was completely healed, she’d hold my hand until we’d gotten to the playground. ‘So if you need somebody to lean on, you’ve got one’ she said. Made a point to hold my hand at least once a day every year after that.”

“We all thought she did that because you two were dating.”

“We could have. I really think we could have. She just…got me, you know? We had this weird synchronicity thing going on. She said ‘bless you’ half a minute before I sneezed but she couldn't do that with anybody else. More than once when she dropped something my hand was already out to catch it before the thing left hers, but I was absolute shit at little league. It was neat. _She_ was neat. But we were kids and even if girls didn’t have cooties anymore I didn’t know how romance worked. Shit’s a minefield when you’re that young. Shit’s a minefield now.”

You realize that you’re talking a lot but he’s not trying to stop you so you keep going. “Then she moved in 6th grade. Came back in 8th and I didn’t even know until I walked into archaeology club and there she was. She’d grown up so much I had to double check that it was her but that smile of hers screamed Megido.” You feel a lump forming in your throat. “She was so pretty and her personality was as sunny as always that it’s a wonder that she didn’t go through boys like we went through those Zoo Books.”

The Coke you’re holding fizzes as you start to shake. “And God, all I wanted was to hold her hand like we used to, but I couldn’t bring myself to ask, because I was scared that she’d think I was trying to make a move, and I’d have to tell her that no, I had to go and develop a preference for dicks so sorry it’s not gonna work out, and it’s so self-centered but I never got past that fear and just sat there miserable every Tuesday afternoon because I’m a FUCKING COWARD.” You whip the can as hard as you can against the opposite wall and soda sprays everywhere, covering everything in the area with a layer of carbonated sugar liquid.

Eventually he breaks the moment of silence. “Dave?”

You face him. He reaches a hand out and wipes tears off your face (you don’t remember when you started crying; you don’t know when he did, either). Your voice trembles. “I love her, man. I don’t wanna call each other stupid pet names or get married and have like six kids but I just love who she is.”

He brings his hand around to the back of your neck and gently pulls you towards his shoulder, and the second it connects with your forehead you start to bawl.

You’ve never grieved over the loss of a human life before; you’ve never been in the situation where you’ve needed to. As you fist your hand in his t-shirt and you feel the vibrations of you both crying, you decide you never want to have to grieve alone.

-

July 16th

He asks you the day before if you’d be okay with the idea. You sit on it for a few hours, and ultimately decide that since there will be no adults present and therefore no traditional structure to the event, you think it’d be a good thing to do.

He texts everyone to come to the baseball field in the park right after dinner; bring snacks and a stuffed animal or doll if you have one. The fourteen-strong turnout is comforting (the two absent are Serket who hasn’t gotten back yet, and the person this get-together is honoring).

It doesn’t feel like a wake, not really, and that’s the point. It’s closer to a rather large picnic. Everybody sits in a loose circle and shares from the food stack you’ve all compiled, teddy bears and animal pillows littering the grass. At first everybody makes a point not to mention any topics that could eventually lead to her and the situation at hand. But it’s awkward and uncomfortable, and everyone grows to accept that ignoring what’s happening won’t make it go away. Sometimes a story is brought up about time spent with her, a funny joke she made up, something that a person really valued about her, but mostly it’s casual conversation like you all do every day.

Parents start texting people to come home because it’s getting late, and nobody wants to leave. Almost everyone starts crying.  You all make a pact to come together as a group at least once a month from now on. It shouldn’t take tragedy to bring you all together.

Before he goes you thank him for doing this. For once in your life you aren’t a coward and you hug him.

-

July 29th  

Since the Not A Wake he’s spent every day with you. You tell him after the first straight week that he shouldn’t feel obligated to spend time with you just because you’re depressed; he says of course I don’t feel obligated, dumbass, I’m here for the same reason I’ve been here all summer. He doesn’t elaborate beyond that and you don’t ask.

He’s not with you 24/7 exactly. He sleeps over as often as he spent the day back in June, and on those days he comes over close to three rather than in the morning. Sometimes he brings one of your friends along (he always asks you for permission first), sometimes you invite somebody over too (it’s your place but you also ask permission first) and some days you’ll drag yourselves into town to grasp at normalcy. But mostly you hang around the apartment and watch movies and try to keep your minds occupied.

The nights are hard. Horror games and caffeine can only keep you awake for so long, and even when you can hold out until daybreak, you still crash at some point, and you’re left to your thoughts. You don’t cry yourself to sleep as often as you did in the beginning and neither does he, but when you sense each other starting to crumble you’re not too proud anymore to be coddled.

-

August 3rd

Today is the last day of the county fair and although neither of you are big on fairs, you deem it a summer tradition to attend at least one, and so by the afternoon you’re sharing a bag of kettle corn and wondering what the soil equivalent of steroids is because there’s no way any of the contenders in the Biggest Pumpkin Contest are clean.

You avoid the petting zoo because there’s sheep and the last time you pet sheep was with Aradia. He doesn’t push you.

You ride the Ferris wheel five times, both of you hoping it stops with your thing at the top so you can have a cliché fair moment. It doesn’t, and dropping another $5 for a roll of tickets when the fair is closing in ten minutes isn’t worth it, so you spend the rest of the time watching fathers carry drowsy kids on their shoulders to the family car.

“Do you ever wanna be a dad?” he asks.

You shrug. “Maybe. I’d probably suck at it though. Kinda don’t wanna be responsible for another life when I can’t get my own in order, you know?”

He says he feels the same. “You’ve done a pretty good job with your life so far I think.”

“Thanks. You too.”

You mean it.

-

August 15th

Advertisements for school supplies bombard you from all angles, and you start to panic. You hate school just as much as anybody else, and you hate that the fall approaching means having to be responsible and operate on a schedule again. During summer it doesn’t matter what time it is unless you’re planning to see a movie or if you’re staying until the last possible second at an amusement park. During school seven hours of your day are spent in a jail referred to as a building of education, and another two are wasted afterwards on homework and projects. You’re too tired to stay up until four in the morning when you know you have to get up at five, and the hole you burned in your pocket after a summer of purchases means you’ll probably need to get a part time job too.

This year, you’ll have to deal with not getting to hang out with him every day on top of it all.

You’re sprawled out on the floor sharing earbuds (you cleverly called yourselves Ear Buds; he groans) and the awareness that your time is limited leaves an itch under your skin that you can’t scratch away. You want to get up and do something, anything, just so you can say that you lived your final summer days to the fullest, but you can’t bring yourself to put in the effort to even eat the last slice of pizza.

He’s fallen asleep to the only Metallica song on your playlist (you don’t remember putting it there and assume it’s Equius’s doing). You didn’t know falling asleep to heavy metal was even possible.

Vaguely you think to yourself that he’s kind of cute.

…fuck.

-

August 22nd

Since then you’ve made other startling discoveries.

You think it’s funny how his nose scrunches up if he’s thinking really hard. You think it’s endearing how when he lightly snores there’s a hint of a squeak to it. You think it’s silly how he insists on taking his hamburgers apart because you put the tomato under the cheese, dumbdumb, otherwise the ketchup touches the tomato and then the tomato product layers aren’t evenly distributed.

You think it’s strange how you’ve probably liked him for a while but only just realized it.

Today is a Mario Kart competition and you’re annihilating him 10 to 3. He’s starting to realize that staying in second  most of the round to avoid getting hit by blue shells is a legitimate strategy, so now it’s a fight for second that you’re both so wrapped up in that when one of you wins the round it’s for getting second place, not first. The battle it starting to spark your long-forgotten rivalry and there’s more insult flinging than usual, but you know by now that neither of you mean any of it.

When it’s 13 to 6 and you’re starting the next race you ask, “Hey, question.”

“Sup, answer.”

“Not that I’m trying to kick you out or anything, but you’ve kinda spent like every day at my place this summer for no reason. Why is that?”

“Oh, there’s a reason,” he says, throwing the opportunity of the start-up speed boost on purpose.

“Oh. Okay, cool I guess.” You speed past Peach and pick up a three pack of bananas. “I kinda assumed there was but I couldn’t figure out what.”

“It’s because I like spending time with you.”

The answer catches you off guard and you let Toad of all people cut you off. “That’s it? No tragic ‘my home life is shitty so I’m running away from my problems’? No lazy ‘I left one pair of boxers here too many by accident and now I’d feel weird about taking them home’? No ‘I fell in love with you at some point so I’m hanging around until you notice me, senpai’?”

“Well it could be a combination of any of those reasons too if that would make you feel better,” he says, mashing buttons. “Also I thought senpai was for people older than you. If anything I’m _your_ senpai.”

“Yeah but I’m taller and a taller stature suggests older age.”

“My dad’s old as fuck and shorter than my mom.”

“Your dad was part of the drug cartel the rules mean nothing to him.”

“Pharmaceutical specialist,” he corrects as he passes you. “You’re lagging behind, Strider.”

“Just giving you a false sense of hope to cling to,” you assure him. The next several minutes are quieter as you struggle to keep pace with each other. A part of you that you want to ignore is disappointed that your third theory wasn’t his reason, but you’re forced to acknowledge it because you have no other excuse for why you lose the race.

He throws his arms up in victory. “Ha, 7 to 13. ‘Shit at Mario Kart’ is no longer a viable descriptor for me.”

“Nah you’re still shit at Mario Kart. Trailing by six does not a victor make.”

“Says you. Besides, I’ll be tied with you in no time.”

You pick Rainbow Road and he pinches your leg.

A couple of laps in he asks, “So of your three theories, which one did you have the most money on?”

“The boxer one,” you lie. “If something was up with you and your folks you would have cracked at some point. And I actually did forget about the senpai thing.”

“Oh yeah? Why don’t I believe you?”

“Because you’re stupid,” and he confirms this by wasting a boost on a turn and plummeting into the abyss. “Which one do you think I had the most money on?”

“The senpai one. We’ve been watching anime religiously all summer, there’s no way you’d suddenly forget how the honorific system works.”

You hold up a middle finger at the screen when Luigi green shells you. “How does me messing up Japanese courtesy names make me inclined to that theory?”

“Because I think you slipped up,” he takes the opportunity to pass you, “you used senpai correctly but that line referred to yourself.”

“You trying to imply something, Vantas?”

“About as much as you were implying.”

“Who said I was implying anything?”

“Were you really not?”

“Who said I wasn’t?”

“Are you ever gonna give me a straight answer?”

“How can I when I’m not straight?”

“An interesting time to bring that fact up, huh?”

“Better than ignoring it don’t you think?”

“This is getting ridiculous.”

“I picked Rainbow Road what did you expect?”

“Dave.”

“Karkat.”

He puts his controller down and looks at you. You follow suit because a win’s not worth it if he’s not putting up a fight. “Alright, what?”

“Be serious for like two seconds.”

“Fine. One Mississippi.”

“If I kissed you right now would you push me off?”

You left your shades on the bed so you try your best not to ogle, and say nothing.

“Would you?”

You swallow and call his bluff. “Guess you’d have to try and see.”

Your face burns when you realize you’ve miscalculated. He leans towards you slowly and you stay still as a statue. When he’s close enough that you can feel his breath on your lips he whispers, “Dave?”

Despite yourself, you stutter. “T-try and see.”

You’re not a coward, not anymore. When he eliminates the final centimeters between you, you kiss him back.

He planned to stay the night but his dad calls and says he has chores or some shit to do. The moment he’s gone you bury your face in a pillow and smile.

-

August 28th  

“Are we dating?”

You say you don’t know, because you actually don’t. You say you associated dating with cheesy pickup lines and sucking face in public and “no you hang up the phone”s because that’s what everybody else does. But there’s been no difference between how you acted around each other up until August 21st and how you’ve acted August 23rd on. Except now you chastely kiss each other goodbye whenever he goes home.

“…do you want to be?”

You say maybe. Does he?

“…only if it doesn’t start getting weird between us. Like, I want things to stay the way they are. With one exception, though.”

You ask what the exception is.

“Can we make out sometimes?”

That makes you laugh. You agree, and decide to oblige his exception.

-

September 1st

He can’t sleep over tonight because there’s school tomorrow. You spend the day sitting in the park, people watching and throwing grass at each other. He refers to you as his boyfriend for the first time when a chick starts hitting on him and you love the way it sounds.

You’re back at your apartment by sundown. His brother furiously texts him every ten minutes to watch the time, it’s getting late and you need to be home soon.

When he can’t put it off anymore and he’s standing in the doorway of your room with his backpack over one shoulder, he starts crying, and you start crying, and you pull him back in the room for another goodbye kiss that’s so bittersweet it hurts.

He leaves and you feel as empty as the room seems without him there.

-

September 2nd

You have a late lunch, with English and chemistry in the afternoon. He finds your locker around 11 and kisses you hello, ignoring the snickering he gets from passerby. Your schedules match from lunch onwards.

He asks if he can come over after school.

In response you pull a ‘Karl’ Coke can out of your locker, correct it with a Sharpie (adding a heart as an afterthought), and hand it to him.


	2. Misc Days

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Miscellaneous days that weren't featured in the main story (or: I felt like writing more for this fic bc it was fun but now it's 3am whoops)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Treat these days as canonical to the story line of the fic 
> 
> Also August 30th is a little more PG-13 than the other days if you catch my drift that's my special gift to you guys, wink

June 18th

“This is it man, this is the end of David Lorenzo Strider as you all know and cherish him. Think of me fondly when I’m gone.”

“Your middle school drama queen is showing,” he calls from your bathroom. “And Lorenzo?”

“Bro says there’s no middle name down for me on my birth certificate so it can be whatever I want it to be. I’m feeling Lorenzo today.”

“Is that why Tavros called you Cyborg when we were kids?”

“Yeah, because Cyborg was the shit. Was all ready to call him Beast Boy but he had to have folks that already gave him a middle name. Boy was that a disappointing day.”

“Found it.” He emerges with a large bottle of aloe vera and a wash cloth. “Stop buying so much hair spray it’s almost impossible to navigate under your sink.”

“Shut up and get over here already. I’m still dying.” You gingerly peel off your tank top and reposition yourself on your bed to give him room to sit. “Remind me to kill Rose later.”

The mattresses shift slightly under his weight as he sits behind you. “She’s as pale as you are. What gave her the idea to go to the beach, let alone drag you along?”

“Women are strange creatures, Karkat, with strange ideas and stranger motivations. They entice you with college-level vocab words and B cup cleavage and promises of Spongebob-shaped popsicles.”

“You seem pretty convinced on the B cup thing.”

“So?”

“So it never ceases to amaze me how gay the two of you are 99% of the time, but the second you’re within range of each other that all goes out the window.” His words are punctuated by the squelch of gel being squeezed out of its container.

“Continue being as amazed as we are about it. Okay so like just, glob it on? But not all aT ONCE HOLY SHIT.”

“Fuck, sorry.”

“Shit. Shit. No. It’s okay just. Aughhh.” You shudder as the shock and pain quickly subsides into cool relief. “God bless aloe.”

“Sheesh, you looked red before but now this is just ridiculous.” He hesitantly starts to rub the gel into your skin and you close your eyes. “Does this always happen?”

“Mostly,” you say lazily. “S’why I don’t stay out in the sun a lot. First part’s painful, next part’s boring, part after that’s annoying.”

“What’s the boring part?”

“Can’t wear a shirt with this junk on so I just lay around for a while.”

“You’re at that part now by the way.” You hear him screw the cap back on the bottle.

“Ugh, great.” You actually kind of liked the pressure of his hands on your shoulders, because it meant a few more moments of relief with the gel, but now you get to lie on your stomach which is almost as great. “The annoying part won’t start for a day or two.”

“Which is?” Out of the corner of your eye you see him struggle to wipe the excess junk off of his hands with the wash cloth.

“Peeling.”

“Don’t even get me started on peeling, dude.”

“You’re half Spanish or whatever, I can’t remember the last time I’ve seen you burnt, let alone peeling.”

“That’s because I don’t have a twin dragging me into situations where there’s excess sun exposure. Watch though, I always get a little burned on my face by the end of the summer.”

“When the time comes lemme know and I’ll return the sticky gel burn relief favor,” you mumble half into a pillow. There’s a suggestive eyebrow waggle that’s hidden from view so it comes out sounding more genuine than you intended.

“Yeah no thanks I’ll do that myself. I don’t need you sticking aloe in my mouth on accident yet on purpose.” He props his legs up over the back of yours and you half-heartedly try to kick him off. “Stay still. You make a good leg rest.”

“I hate sunburn. So much.”

“You and everybody else on the planet, dude.”

He’s a decent friend and keeps you entertained with games of 20 questions while you wait for the gel to dry.

-

July 19th

You wake up gasping for air. Your chest burns like your bike broke during the Tour de France and you decided to run the rest of the way. The alarm clock on your desk glows neon green numbers, informing you of the ridiculous early hour of the morning it is.

You count to ten, twice, thrice, four times; you stare at the clock and watch the dots separating the hours and minutes blink. Nothing helps. By the time you’ve counted to fifty you realize tears are streaming down your face and starting to dampen your night shirt.

“Dave?” you hear him whisper in the dark.

The whimper you let out in response is terribly uncool.

From the faint moonlight coming through your window you see him navigate from his sleeping place – a mattress, one of two that make up your frameless bed – over to you.  He grabs your left hand. “Are you okay?”

You fervently shake your head because no, you’re definitely not okay. Everything was alright when you first fell asleep, but like every night since the 14th, it all went to shit once your semi-conscious thoughts started to twist. Screaming, carnage, skeletons, darkness. Someone calling for you, for your help, but you can’t move, when you can you’re not fast enough, and they’re so, so disappointed in you. _How could you let me down, Dave? This is one thing you can’t make up to me. I’m dead. Why weren’t you there to save me?_

Sobs wrack your body and you can’t breathe again. Why weren’t you there to save her?

He pulls you toward him and you rest your head on his shoulder, feeling him do the same on yours. You wrap your arms around his neck and cry and cry and cry; he rubs your back and you hear him trying to hold back sniffles of his own.

You wake up again around one in the afternoon, still wrapped up with him on your mattress. It’s embarrassing how clingy you are for the rest of the day, sitting as close to him as possible during heists in Grand Theft Auto IV, following him when he goes into the kitchen for a juice box, but he doesn’t call you out on it or try to push you off.

When you’re both exhausted and decide to go to sleep, he moves his pillow to your mattress, and you fight back tears of gratitude. He asks if you’d sleep better if you cuddled. You lose the fight and whimper out thank yous as you entangle yourself into him.

-

August 12th

Today he invites you over to his house.

While you haven’t exactly spent every hour of the summer in your room, it’s very odd to be leaving your apartment with the intention of staying overnight somewhere else. You haven’t been to a proper sleepover in ages.

The origins of the three largest facets of his personality – the warmth, the wrath, and the rambling – all become clear the moment you step in the door.

His mother is an angelic woman, where the first thing she says to you is “so nice to see you David, how are you?” and the second is “if you need anything don’t hesitate to ask!” She smiles a lot, the genuine kind that doesn’t look forced. She kisses your forehead like you’re one of her own. You’d compare her to a warm summer night, in those blessed moments just before it gets too cold and you scramble for the sheets you kicked off hours ago.

If his mother is a summer night, his father is the winter twilight, that instinctive fear passed down from your ancestors of the loss of the sunlight and the panic thinking it won’t return in the morning. Although he testifies his dad isn’t nearly as intimidating as he appears to be, his sharp edges and smoke stained scowls make a convincing counterargument.

His brother Kankri, completing the seasonal metaphor, is a spring afternoon, just before it’s warm enough to go jacketless but no longer too cold for pollen allergies to kick in. Prim, proper, snobby, a complete chatterbox (the assumption that you had befriended the wordier Vantas was horribly incorrect). His poking and prodding into your speech is reminiscent of Rose’s poking and prodding at your psyche, and you’re grateful when his mother makes an effort to keep him at bay so as to not disturb the two of you.

His bedroom is rather cramped so he takes you outside, promising his old treehouse is more comfortable. It is. The summer breeze that slips through the wooden boards of the walls keeps the house from getting too stuffy. A transport system comprised of a rope, pulley, and laundry basket makes sending snacks up a piece of cake (in fact, literally; his mom made pound cake). An extension cord runs up the tree so that string lights and his laptop can be plugged in.

You watch YouTube videos and play poker, betting cubed pieces of fruit in place of money, and sword fight with the toothpicks when the fruit is gone. You give each other terrible makeovers with rubber bands and Crayola washable markers. At night he drags a mattress from the guest room up into the house, and you pretend to argue over who has to sleep on the floorboards (the joke is that the mattress takes up the entire floor space and you’ve shared one almost all month anyway).

With your hair in pigtails and a curly purple mustache, you sleep soundly.  

-

August 30th

Neither of you are trying to be secretive, far from it. The second you solidified that yes, you’re doing the whole PDA late night phone calls fretting over what to get each other for Christmas deal, you both logged into your rarely-used Facebook accounts just to change your relationship statuses (you spent a solid half hour reading comments and laughing at the ones weakly trying to insult you). It’s not a ‘trying to hide in the closet’ thing that has you peeking down the hallway for Bro before closing your bedroom door. You just want privacy. The man respects that and he never comes in without knocking, but still. Call it teenage paranoia of a parent walking in on you and your S.O. doing anything affectionate.

Initially your plan was to just lock the door, go to your bed, grab him salsa-style, and make out for the rest of the afternoon. But when you sit down you make eye contact for all of 5 seconds and you start giggling.

“Dude no stop this is supposed to be serious,” he says, shoving your shoulder but grinning all the same.

“I know, I know, can you just like, stop making that face?”

“What face?”

“ _That_ face.”

“This is just my face!”

“Yeah, exactly!”

He shoves you again, you shove him back, and you both crack up about how awkward you’re being.

“How do actors do kiss scenes with straight faces?”

“Maybe they just, like, look over each other’s shoulders. You know, so they don’t make eye contact.”

You test this theory but just end up smashing noses into each other’s cheeks.

“God, how’d we even do this the first time?” you laugh, rubbing your nose.

“Well we weren’t trying to plan it out every step of the way then. ‘Dave, tilt your cranium forty-five degrees to your right.’ ‘Yes Karkat, and you place your hand approximately ten inches above my knee joint.’”

“Ten inches, huh? That’s approaching Strider dick territory. Never pegged you for somebody who moves that fast in a relationship.”

“Oh shut up you get my point.”

“Actually I don’t. I think I need a hands-on demonstration. How many degrees was that, forty-five?” You tilt your head and pretend to precisely measure how far to the right you move it.

He rolls his eyes. “Fine. You’re gonna be a wiseass about it, I’ll play along.” He tilts his head to his right, not as dramatic as you did, and connects his lips with yours. For a moment you’re too wrapped up in the kiss to process anything else, with how dazed it leaves you feeling every time, until you feel his left hand on your thigh and you gasp into his mouth. You were right; ten inches is definitely Strider dick territory.

He freezes because he must have realized this fact too. Slowly, you feel him start to pull away. “Nuh uh, not happening,” you mutter, pulling him forward by his shirt so you’re reconnected. He hesitates for a moment but gets back into it quickly, reaching up the hand not dangerously close to your crotch to lace it in your hair.

When your lips are sore and you both agree that going any further isn’t in the cards right now (maybe some other time, when your relationship is more than a week old), you start laughing again, because at this rate you’ll never be able to make out without cracking jokes about it.

You decide that’s not such a bad thing.

-

September 2nd

After school in your room, you kiss his cheek and he flinches away.

“I got burned yesterday while we were in the park,” he explains when you shoot him a questioning look. “My face’s been hurting all day.”

“I’ve got that aloe vera junk if you want it.” He nods so you go traverse your bathroom cabinets until you find it.

You go to hand it to him and he pushes it back. “You do it.”

“Seriously?”

“I trust you not to coat my teeth in the stuff.” You’re ready with a witty line in response but he gives you a look that, in combination with his tomato red cheeks, dissolves it in your mouth. So instead you gently rub the aloe on his face and fight the urge to laugh whenever he scrunches his nose up.

You’re a decent boyfriend and keep him entertained with Would You Rather questions while he waits for the gel to dry.

**Author's Note:**

> I found out after the fact that 'Karl' is not one of the names that Coca Cola automatically produces on their name cans/bottles. Either pretend they do, or headcanon that Dave special ordered cases of 'Karkat' cans and the site autocorrected it to 'Karl' so now he just always orders 'Karl' and corrects them with a Sharpie. Whichever serves you best.


End file.
